


Migraine

by KatieBug1998



Series: Supernatural One-Shots, Sick Fics, Injured Fics, and Hurt/Comfort [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 18:09:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10224053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatieBug1998/pseuds/KatieBug1998
Summary: The reader has a migraine and Sam comforts him/her.Purely based on my own experiences with migraines.





	

"Sam. " You draw out his name.

Sam runs in, hearing the distress in your voice. You wince as he opens the door to your room and light floods in. "What's wrong?"

"Shh."

The bed sinks as Sam sits on it. He reaches over to touch your forehead. "You don't have a fever. What's wrong?" He repeats.

"Migraine." You swallow. "Can't move." It started out as a headache, so you discretely left the brothers in the kitchen of the bunker and went to your and Sam's room to sleep it off. That didn't work. It just kept getting worse to the point where you couldn't move because it hurt so bad and you were nauseous.

"I'll get you something," he said and left.

You bury your face in the pillow and cover your eyes. Tears escape your eyes, probably staining the pillow.

You have your ears so tightly covered that you don't hear Sam when he enters. He touched your shoulder, startling you. You jerk and groan from the pain that shoots through your head in response to the movement. He rubs your back for a minute until you look up. Wordlessly, he hands you some pills and a glass of water. You take it.

Slowly, you lay back down on your side. He brushes your hair away and placed a cool rag across your neck. That's better. "You're so hot," he says.

"Thanks," you reply, and sniff. Sam sighs then laughs a little. He runs his hands through your hair. When the tears have ceased and your breathing slows, Sam starts to take his hand away. You reach out blindly and grab it.

You can hear the smile in his voice. "It's okay. I've got you." He puts his hand back to your head.

Then there's a bunch of noise coming from the kitchen. It sounds like a pot being brought out and placed on the stove, then plates, silverware, the refrigerator opening. Your hands shoot up to your ears, and you whimper. You started pulling your hair and use your forearms to cover your ears. It helps, for some reason; it's instinct.

"God," Sam mutters. "I'll tell him to shut up." He gets up, walks out, and closes the door, but you stay in the same position, knees pulled to your chest, hands gripping your hair, eyes shut tight, and ears covered.

"Hey, Sammy," you hear Dean say. Even with your ears covered, he's loud; you whimper again. "Haven't seen you in a while. Were you, uh, having some fun with (y/n)?"

"First, it's Sam. Second, no. He/She has a migraine and I came in here tell you to be quiet."

"Sorry, man. I was just going to make some food. I'll be quieter. You want some? Do you think (y/n) will want to eat?"

"I'm not sure about (y/n), but I'll take some. I might need to stay with him/her though, he/she feels pretty bad."

"Does this happen often?" Dean asks, concerned.

"Not that I know of. Probably from that concussion not too long ago."

"Oh, yeah."

"Sam," you say, drawing his name out again.

He walks back in. He flips the washcloth over so the cool side is on your neck. That mostly relieves the nausea caused that recurred from you talking. You release the breath you'd been holding in.

He starts stroking your hair again. "Dean's cooking. Do you think you'll want to eat soon?"

The thought of food almost makes you gag. "I think I'm gonna be sick." You sit up quickly, too quickly, and put the washcloth against your mouth.

"Crap," Sam says. He picks up a trash can and hands it to you. He must have brought it in earlier. He holds your hair back. Mercifully, you don't throw up, but you gag.

After a minute, you put the trash can back on the ground and slowly lay down on the bed on your back.

"I'll take that as a no on the food."

You laugh once, humorlessly and flip him off. He chuckles.

"It's been about forty-five minutes," he says.

"Feels like a lifetime," you mumble.

"The meds should be working soon. You know, I've heard that sex really helps with migraines." He tries to sound nonchalant.

"Mm. I'm too tired to do anything." You pause. "But I wouldn't mind you doing something to me." The corners of your mouth turn up, eyes still closed.

Two seconds later, you feel Sam begin to unbutton your pants. He slides them off along with your underwear. You're already feeling much better.


End file.
